FabSwingers.com forum: Poem

By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

There's a very popular poem about how passion goes with age, something about the fireside in it. I cannot for the life of me remember it. Can anyone help?

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

Ps Google is not my friend it's an internet search engine, thank you

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By *ranny-CrumpetWoman
over a year ago

The Town by The Cross

I'll have a word in Googles ear

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By *ranny-CrumpetWoman
over a year ago

The Town by The Cross

Google told me to fuck off.....

Couldn't find it .....

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By *eliWoman
over a year ago

One Flesh by Elizabeth Jennings? Not sure if it is the one though.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

Passion goes with age

It's then replaced with rage

You obsess about your wage

And what to cook with sage

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By *eliWoman
over a year ago

"Passion goes with age

It's then replaced with rage

You obsess about your wage

And what to cook with sage"

^ Better than Jennings' easily.

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By *rightonsteveMan
over a year ago

Brighton - even Hove!

"There's a very popular poem about how passion goes with age, something about the fireside in it. I cannot for the life of me remember it. Can anyone help?"

Passion blossoms with age

Like a fire blazing

But then the petals fall

And the embers die down

The tree is bare

And the house cold

It is that one?

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By *rightonsteveMan
over a year ago

Brighton - even Hove!

I had a jar of passion fruit jam

Someone left the lid off

Although it wasn’t very old

It had gone bad with mould

In my ire, I threw it on the fire

It shattered and the glass

Hit me in the ass

Which caused a passion ration

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

I thought mine encapsulated middle class/age ennui perfectly

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By *rightonsteveMan
over a year ago

Brighton - even Hove!

"I thought mine encapsulated middle class/age ennui perfectly

"
it was good. It’s a pity you didn’t use a capital s on sage because then it could have been a persons name and suggested that the older married couple have, in fact, got an extra lady in the house for sexual gymnastics. But you didn’t.

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

"Passion goes with age

It's then replaced with rage

You obsess about your wage

And what to cook with sage"

Close but no cigar

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

"Google told me to fuck off.....

Couldn't find it ..... "

They're like that, that Google

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

"One Flesh by Elizabeth Jennings? Not sure if it is the one though."

Nope, not that one. It's really annoying me because I can seen it in my head.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

"I thought mine encapsulated middle class/age ennui perfectly

it was good. It’s a pity you didn’t use a capital s on sage because then it could have been a persons name and suggested that the older married couple have, in fact, got an extra lady in the house for sexual gymnastics. But you didn’t. "

That would have been far too exciting and hence unrealistic.

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

"There's a very popular poem about how passion goes with age, something about the fireside in it. I cannot for the life of me remember it. Can anyone help?

Passion blossoms with age

Like a fire blazing

But then the petals fall

And the embers die down

The tree is bare

And the house cold

It is that one?"

No. When I find it (I'm currently searching my books) it probably won't be anything like I described it. It has a similar feel to Jenny Kiss'd Me

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

On Growing Old by John Masefield?

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By *rightonsteveMan
over a year ago

Brighton - even Hove!

"There's a very popular poem about how passion goes with age, something about the fireside in it. I cannot for the life of me remember it. Can anyone help?

Passion blossoms with age

Like a fire blazing

But then the petals fall

And the embers die down

The tree is bare

And the house cold

It is that one?

No. When I find it (I'm currently searching my books) it probably won't be anything like I described it. It has a similar feel to Jenny Kiss'd Me"
I wrote that.

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

When You Are Old W.B Yeats.

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

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By *eliWoman
over a year ago

That's beautiful OP, happy you found it and shared it with us.

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

"On Growing Old by John Masefield?"

No, not that but it is beautiful.

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

"There's a very popular poem about how passion goes with age, something about the fireside in it. I cannot for the life of me remember it. Can anyone help?

Passion blossoms with age

Like a fire blazing

But then the petals fall

And the embers die down

The tree is bare

And the house cold

It is that one?

No. When I find it (I'm currently searching my books) it probably won't be anything like I described it. It has a similar feel to Jenny Kiss'd Me I wrote that. "

You wrote Jenny Kiss'd Me!?

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By *rightonsteveMan
over a year ago

Brighton - even Hove!

Where’s the passion fruit bit?

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By *rightonsteveMan
over a year ago

Brighton - even Hove!

"There's a very popular poem about how passion goes with age, something about the fireside in it. I cannot for the life of me remember it. Can anyone help?

Passion blossoms with age

Like a fire blazing

But then the petals fall

And the embers die down

The tree is bare

And the house cold

It is that one?

No. When I find it (I'm currently searching my books) it probably won't be anything like I described it. It has a similar feel to Jenny Kiss'd Me I wrote that.

You wrote Jenny Kiss'd Me!?

"
no! The one above that but!

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By *VineMan
over a year ago

The right place

I’m trying to remember a poem too. Can anyone else help? I know it was about a man from Nantucket!

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By *icketysplitsWoman
over a year ago

Way over Yonder, that's where I'm bound

"When You Are Old W.B Yeats.

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars."

That's so beautiful.

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

"Where’s the passion fruit bit?

I did say it was probably nothing like I described it

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By *rightonsteveMan
over a year ago

Brighton - even Hove!

"Where’s the passion fruit bit?

I did say it was probably nothing like I described it

"
*sigh*

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

"There's a very popular poem about how passion goes with age, something about the fireside in it. I cannot for the life of me remember it. Can anyone help?

Passion blossoms with age

Like a fire blazing

But then the petals fall

And the embers die down

The tree is bare

And the house cold

It is that one?

No. When I find it (I'm currently searching my books) it probably won't be anything like I described it. It has a similar feel to Jenny Kiss'd Me I wrote that.

You wrote Jenny Kiss'd Me!?

no! The one above that but! "

I know I'm joshing ya. I guessed it was yours

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

"When You Are Old W.B Yeats.

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

That's so beautiful.

Isn't it

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By *oudLoutishLoverWoman
over a year ago

Colchester

This is the best thread in ages! I’ve discovered two wonderful poems, already, and one has made me cry.

(The jam explosion is not one of them, apologies)

Why are there not more threads about poetry?

I think I already know the answer, sadly.

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

"This is the best thread in ages! I’ve discovered two wonderful poems, already, and one has made me cry.

(The jam explosion is not one of them, apologies)

Why are there not more threads about poetry?

I think I already know the answer, sadly."

There are threads about poetry now and again.

Feel free to add your favourites to this one

Estragon and Brighton Steve even wrote their own

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By *oudLoutishLoverWoman
over a year ago

Colchester

In the Yeats poem, did the man who truly loved her die? If his face is in the stars, and he’s fled to pace the mountains overhead, this is what I assumed.

Anyone know?

Or is it love that's died?

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By *rightonsteveMan
over a year ago

Brighton - even Hove!

This is the one I’m planning to have on my celebration of life thingy service memorial whatsit.

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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By *rightonsteveMan
over a year ago

Brighton - even Hove!

Read by Anthony Hopkins on YouTube....

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By *oudLoutishLoverWoman
over a year ago

Colchester

"This is the one I’m planning to have on my celebration of life thingy service memorial whatsit.

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

Cue thumping sounds from your coffin.

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

"In the Yeats poem, did the man who truly loved her die? If his face is in the stars, and he’s fled to pace the mountains overhead, this is what I assumed.

Anyone know?

Or is it love that's died?

It can be what you want it to be. That's the pleasure in poetry

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By *oudLoutishLoverWoman
over a year ago

Colchester

"In the Yeats poem, did the man who truly loved her die? If his face is in the stars, and he’s fled to pace the mountains overhead, this is what I assumed.

Anyone know?

Or is it love that's died?

It can be what you want it to be. That's the pleasure in poetry"

I guess so.

I despised poetry until my son started bringing his English homework to me for help. Now we both love it. Thank God people change with age, eh?

Here’s one I always sniffle at.

Twould ring the bells of Heaven

The wildest peal for years,

If Parson lost his senses

And people came to theirs,

And he and they together

Knelt down with angry prayers

For tamed and shabby tigers

And dancing dogs and bears,

And wretched, blind, pit ponies,

And little hunted hares.

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

"In the Yeats poem, did the man who truly loved her die? If his face is in the stars, and he’s fled to pace the mountains overhead, this is what I assumed.

Anyone know?

Or is it love that's died?

It can be what you want it to be. That's the pleasure in poetry

I guess so.

I despised poetry until my son started bringing his English homework to me for help. Now we both love it. Thank God people change with age, eh?

Here’s one I always sniffle at.

Twould ring the bells of Heaven

The wildest peal for years,

If Parson lost his senses

And people came to theirs,

And he and they together

Knelt down with angry prayers

For tamed and shabby tigers

And dancing dogs and bears,

And wretched, blind, pit ponies,

And little hunted hares.

That's lovely.

I've got my poetry books out again off the back of this thread.

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

By the time you swear you're his,

Shivering and sighing,

And he vows his passion is

Infinite, undying -

Lady, make a note of this:

One of you is lying.

Dorothy Parker

For the more cynical among us

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

"In the Yeats poem, did the man who truly loved her die? If his face is in the stars, and he’s fled to pace the mountains overhead, this is what I assumed.

Anyone know?

Or is it love that's died?

It can be what you want it to be. That's the pleasure in poetry

I guess so.

I despised poetry until my son started bringing his English homework to me for help. Now we both love it. Thank God people change with age, eh?

Here’s one I always sniffle at.

Twould ring the bells of Heaven

The wildest peal for years,

If Parson lost his senses

And people came to theirs,

And he and they together

Knelt down with angry prayers

For tamed and shabby tigers

And dancing dogs and bears,

And wretched, blind, pit ponies,

And little hunted hares.

For me, The Good Morrow.

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By *oudLoutishLoverWoman
over a year ago

Colchester

"By the time you swear you're his,

Shivering and sighing,

And he vows his passion is

Infinite, undying -

Lady, make a note of this:

One of you is lying.

Dorothy Parker

For the more cynical among us

Dorothy Parker was a GENIUS.

“If I didn't care for fun and such,

I'd probably amount to much.

But I shall stay the way I am,

Because I do not give a damn.”

Also,

'Tell him I was too fucking busy — or vice versa.'

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By *icecouple561 OP Couple
Forum Mod
over a year ago

East Sussex

"In the Yeats poem, did the man who truly loved her die? If his face is in the stars, and he’s fled to pace the mountains overhead, this is what I assumed.

Anyone know?

Or is it love that's died?

It can be what you want it to be. That's the pleasure in poetry

I guess so.

I despised poetry until my son started bringing his English homework to me for help. Now we both love it. Thank God people change with age, eh?

Here’s one I always sniffle at.

Twould ring the bells of Heaven

The wildest peal for years,

If Parson lost his senses

And people came to theirs,

And he and they together

Knelt down with angry prayers

For tamed and shabby tigers

And dancing dogs and bears,

And wretched, blind, pit ponies,

And little hunted hares.

For me, The Good Morrow.

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By *acDreamyMan
over a year ago

Wirral

Thanks op. I love poetry!

Poetry introduced me to one of the loveliest people I chat to on here. It is such a beautiful medium. X

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